


On Your Knees

by EpitomyofShyness



Category: Working at an Amusement Park - Girl_from_the_crypt
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Deepthroating, M/M, Men Crying, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Sexual Coercion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:54:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23836462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EpitomyofShyness/pseuds/EpitomyofShyness
Summary: Colt isn't sure why Warin spared his life, especially because he knows the Wild One despises him. After all, it was his personal hound that was demanded as the first sacrifice. When he finds Warin tormenting his wife, Colt realizes there is much more he has to lose, and he strikes a new private deal to make sure his Nellie won't be in the line of fire.
Relationships: Colt (Working at an Amusement Park)/Cowboy | Warin (Working at an Amusement Park), Colt (Working at an Amusement Park)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	On Your Knees

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't edit this at all and I've never tried to write M/M before so UHHHHHHHHHH I don't even know. This just hasn't been able to leave my head so I guess enjoy? Maybe? I don't know. This is hard non-con though so seriously don't push yourself if you aren't ready for that.

He used to love the woods, the isolation and sense of wonder that never faded even into adulthood. Now the sharp scent of pine and the subtleness of rotting leaves makes his stomach twist with anxiety. Still, he doesn’t let his expression change, not even as rough fingers dig into his shoulder, pressing down until he kneels like Warin wants him to.

A version of him that wasn’t personally involved in this would be impressed by how well Warin still manages to communicate, even though Colt sealed away his voice. The him that is here though, right now on his knees out in the woods? He half-wishes the Wild One had snapped his neck just like it was so clear he wanted to the moment the deal was struck. Then he imagines his wife alone, surrounded by people who look at her with pity at best, derision at worst, and he hates himself for the relief that shudders through him as Warin’s nails scrape the side of his neck.

This is better. Not good, not even tolerable, but he doesn’t want to even try imagining what the alternative might have looked like. 

A thumb digs into the underside of his chin, tilting his head back and forcing him to look up into his own face, twisted with a cruel smile, obsidian chips for teeth, and dripping black saliva. The fucker has even taken to wearing clothes that imitate Colt, not that he’d change just because the bastard is trying to take away everything that has ever made him happy.

A nail digging into his bottom lip brings him out of his thoughts. As nice as it would be to distance himself from this situation, he can’t afford to. His heart races, stomach twisting into a tight knot as he scowls up at Warin. The Wild One just grins, his smile spreading a little too far for a human face.

It’s the same cruel grin he was wearing when Colt found Warin pinning Nellie against the wall. The first sign something was wrong were the snarls, low and deep and desperate. What happened to Scratch will never stop infuriating him, but Colt has made it his responsibility to care for the tormented and twisted wolf-hound. He has told Nellie not to go, she shouldn’t remember her favorite of the hounds like  _ this, _ but he knows she doesn’t listen. He knows this, because the days she visits he comes home to her listless and silent, eyes bloodshot and puffy from crying.

He can hear Scratch snarling from around the corner, but there’s something off to the noise. It’s not his typical show snarls, or even the irritated type he offers up when something bothers him. These are wild, desperate, dare he say despairing? Without thinking Colt breaks into a run, ducking down the dusty alley and coming around the corner to find—

He knows Warin hates him, and by extension despises anything Colt cares for. Still, Colt has been careful, and Nellie knows better than to go anywhere alone, or at least he thought she did. They’re the same height, him and Warin, at least when the Wild One chooses to look like him. Nellie barely comes up to their collar bone, and seeing her hanging in Warin’s grasp, her heels scraping the wall, fingers clutching at his closed fist, nothing has frightened him so desperately. 

_ “Get off her!”  _ He was across the room in a heartbeat, seizing Warin’s shoulder and dragging the Wild One back. He released her, letting her fall to the ground to cough and cry, cowering against the wall and reaching up to dig fingers into her scalp. 

“Don’t you  _ ever _ —” Colt hisses, putting himself between Nellie and that fucking  _ thing, _ but even as he says it the words die on his lips. Warin is still grinning, that cruel delight shining in his eyes. He picked Scratch because Scratch was  Colt’s _ , _ but the worst of it was that he was  _ Nelle’s. _

She loved that dog, and he loved her. He was at her side all the time, day and night, grounding her, helping her face the world whenever things got to be too much. The only time his wife has ever hurt him was the night they took Scratch away. 

He hates himself for that night, holding her down while she screamed and screamed and fought and cried and every scratch he received felt like justice. When he saw what the sons-of-bitches  did to Scratch he wished his wife had hurt him worse. 

Warin picked Scratch because he knew how badly it would hurt him, and what’s worse is that Colt can’t  do  anything about it. Not without putting his baby sister and everyone else in danger. Still, nothing in the bargain says that Warin has the right to terrorize his wife, and he’ll be damned before he lets this bastard have his way. 

That smile though, that smile makes his stomach turn. Colt grinds his teeth, narrowing his eyes and trying to  _ think _ . It takes him a moment to notice that Warin’s attention has shifted, first to the cowering Nellie and then back behind him to the snarling and snapping monstrosity caged away behind iron bars. He tilts his head and licks his lips, and the bottom drops out of Colt’s stomach.

“Nelle,” Colt twists back, crouching down and pulling her to her feet. “Nelle, need you to go lie down, okay?”

“Nnn…” She shakes her head, fingers digging into his arm. She sways against him, and with a curse he shifts, hoisting her up bridal style in his arms so she can cling while he carries her.

Warin follows them at a lazy pace, waiting outside their cabin as Colt puts his shivering wife down for a rest. She doesn’t let go until she’s asleep, her speckled cheeks still damp with tears. He kisses the tip of her nose before he stands, braces himself with a deep breath, then storms outside. 

“What will it take,” he demands of his ‘twin,’ rage meeting vicious delight. “What will it take for you to swear to never demand my wife as a sacrifice?”

And now here he is, out in the woods on his knees, not entirely certain what he’s signed himself up for. But Warin swore, he’d given the asshole permission to swear it out loud that if Colt took every command Warin gave as gospel, he’d never demand Nellie as one of the sacrifices.

The clink of a belt makes Colt tense. He fists his clammy hands into his jeans, focusing on Warin’s face instead of his free hand which is lazily undoing his buckle. The Wild One’s expression softens, amusement still dancing in the chips of pale ice that mirror Colt’s eyes. His thumb swipes over Colt’s lip once more, dipping in and demanding entrance to his mouth. 

Reluctantly Colt parts his lips, feeling awkward as that thumb presses down over his tongue. Warin’s expression shifts again, hunger and delight burning bright in his gaze. With his belt undone he hastily works at his pants, pushing them down far enough to—

_ Oh. _ Colt chokes, his eyes widening in shock. There’s a ringing in his ears, his cheeks flushing and his stomach pulsing with nausea.  _ Oh. _ He wants— Right.  _ Every command. _ He swallows hard, digging his fingers into his thigh and struggling to breathe past the knot in his throat. 

“Can— Can you not look like me while—” He can’t finish the sentence. His words stumble over one another, sweat beading on the back of his neck. 

Warin’s pleased expression hardens, his eyes narrowing dangerously. Colt pulled back to speak, not thinking about anything except the absurdity of doing  _ this _ to someone who  _ looks like himself. _ It’s surreal to the point of madness.

The Wild One just digs his fingers into Colt’s hair, jerking him forward at the same moment that he pushes his hips up. He’s half hard already, and there’s an unfamiliar smell that is somehow earthy like rotten leaves, and like rocks baking in the sun. It should be unpleasant, but it isn’t, not exactly. It still makes Colt’s throat close up in horror, his breath coming in quick pants.

“Right,” he mumbles, blinking rapidly and shivering all over. “Right. Uh, how— how do I—”

Warin snorts, then his free thumb digs into the side of Colt’s mouth, pushing down on his tongue hard. He gags, and then there is something warm and firm and soft in his mouth,  _ there’s a fucking cock in his mouth _ , and all he can do is sit there frozen, too shocked to move or breathe or anything at all.

The hand in his hair tightens, a low groan escaping Warin’s lips. Colt shudders, his tongue shifting back as he tries to accommodate the unfamiliar shape. Warin doesn’t like that, he jerks on Colt’s hair, dragging him closer and forcing more into his mouth.

The urge to bite down hits him, but he resists, knowing that nothing good will come of it. Seeming to sense his compliance, Warin moves the thumb in his mouth away, sliding his hand down to grip his throat, squeezing hard.

The pressure on his throat makes Colt open his mouth wider on instinct. Warin doesn’t waste the opportunity, shoving deeper even as the cock on Colt’s tongue gets harder, swelling up until the only thing he can feel is that thick organ, pushing too hard on the corners of his lips, holding his tongue down, grinding up against the back of his throat.

His own clear saliva spills from his lips as Warin thrusts. Colt assumes he’s being rough, only to be disabused of the notion as the Wild One’s pace quickens. He can’t stop himself from reaching up, grabbing those hips and trying to stop him, but at this angle, his head tilted back, a hand squeezing his throat, Colt can’t do anything. 

The hand in his hair shifts, a thumb stroking down over his cheek. He started crying. He can’t see anything clearly, he can’t catch his breath. Warin isn’t pulling back anymore, and Colt can’t fucking  _ breathe _ but he’s still shoving forward and fuck he—

The pain in his throat is indescribable when the Wild One pushes deeper. He chokes and sobs, the sounds cut off by the head of Warin’s cock buried right up into his throat. He digs his fingers back into Colt’s hair, dragging him down to the base and holding him there, still squeezing his throat. It hurts. It fucking hurts  _ please— _

A hand shoves him back, and finally he can fucking breathe. He gasps raggedly, every breath burning in his lungs. A moment later Warin releases over his face, the ‘seed’ if it could even be called that the same dark shade of his blood and saliva. There’s still a hand in his hair, fingers kneading against his scalp. Colt keeps his eyes closed, whimpering and gasping. The hand slides down to his cheek, stroking lightly, and he leans into the touch without thinking. 

The second shove is harsher. Colt’s head snaps to the side, and he turns to blink sluggishly at his assailant. Warin looks smug, the satisfied glint of his eyes unmistakable. He winks, tilts his hat, and turns away, redoing his belt and whistling as he walks into the woods. 

Colt stays there on his knees, his body shaking too hard for him to contemplate standing. Every time he breathes his throat aches, and he can still taste  _ something _ on the back of his tongue, something wrong and he feels, he feels—

He doubles over, vomiting onto the forest floor. He stares in numb disbelief at his own sick, then realizes there are tears running down his cheeks. He— Why would he—

A sob escapes his throat, then more. He crawls backwards, wiping weakly at his cheeks. He slumps against the trunk of a nearby tree, curling in on himself and shaking like Nellie so often does.  _ His sweet little Nelle. _ She can’t know, not ever. She’d blame herself. She’d try to stop it.

It’s better this way. Better that it’s him on his knees and not her. He can protect her from these monsters, even if he can’t protect himself.


End file.
